by T. M. Logan
Odette appeared at the bottom of the stairs in her Peppa Pig pyjamas, her hair a nest of straggling bedhead curls around her head. Her face was flushed pink, a deep frown creasing her forehead.
‘Dad-ee!’ She stuck out her bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. ‘Why didn’t you come when I shouted?’
‘Couldn’t hear you, darling.’
‘I shouted and shouted and you didn’t come! I can’t get to sleep.’
‘Have you tried lying very quietly and thinking about nice things?’
She folded her arms. ‘I want a Daddy story.’
‘You had a Daddy story already, poppet. In fact, you had two stories.’
‘Want another one.’
‘No.’
‘Want a Mummy story, then.’
‘Mummy’s out at dinner.’
‘Then you have to do it. And you have to wait with me while I fall asleep in case the baddies try to get me.’
‘The baddies aren’t going to get you, Odette.’
She stamped her little foot on the white-tiled floor. ‘Want a story! And you have to wait with me!’
Russ stood up with a sigh, grabbing his beer from the table and scooping up his daughter with his other arm. He headed back up the stairs for the second time that evening. Sean watched him go, waiting for a moment before following him up the wide marble staircase. Daniel’s room was just across the corridor from Odette and he would have heard the little girl shouting.
He opened Daniel’s door as quietly as he could, tiptoeing into the room and waiting for his eyes to adjust. He bent close to his son, hearing his rhythmic breathing. He was asleep. Good boy. He retreated, pulling the door closed, hearing the low rumble of Russ’s voice as he read another story to his daughter.
Back in the lounge, Jake was not happy about the break in play. ‘Are we carrying on, or what?’
‘We should probably wait for Russ to come back,’ Sean said, ‘since he’s in the lead.’
‘How long’s he going to be, then?’
‘Not long.’
Jake went back to looking at his phone.
Sean looked at the three teenagers on the sofa across from him. His daughter was only a year older than Jake, and two years older than Ethan, but there was a world of difference between them. His daughter looked like a young woman – with a full face of make-up, he knew she could pass for eighteen at least – while Jake had the size of a man but the face of a boy, as if he’d grown too fast for his features to keep up. No, that wasn’t quite right: not a boy, exactly, but a curious teenage hybrid that was neither one nor the other.
Jake stood up and stretched, yawning hugely. ‘So bored. Who’s up for some pool downstairs?’
Ethan unfolded himself from the sofa and stood too. ‘I’ll give you a thrashing if you want, bro.’
To Sean’s surprise, Lucy stood up, too.
‘I’ll play the winner.’
‘That,’ Ethan said with a lopsided grin, ‘will be me.’
The three of them trooped off down the hall, the slap-slap of their flip-flops echoing on the stairs as they went down to the basement.
Alistair sat back in his armchair, lacing his fingers behind his head.
‘And then there were two.’
‘Game abandoned, then.’
‘I guess so.’
‘Oh well,’ Sean said. ‘I was going to lose, anyway.’
Russ’s iPhone started ringing quietly on the low tabletop, the display showing an unrecognised number.
Sean ignored it and began collecting up the Yahtzee score sheets and dice scattered across the low table.
‘Must have been something we said.’ He looked at his watch. ‘When are the ladies due back, anyway?’
‘Not for at least another hour, I shouldn’t think. I expect they’ll just be getting into the aren’t-men-awful stage of the evening.’
‘No doubt.’
There was an awkward silence as Sean finished clearing up the game and drained the last of his beer.
‘Fancy another drink?’
‘Oh, go on then,’ Alistair said. ‘If you’re going to twist my arm.’
Sean went into the kitchen to grab another couple of Kronenbourgs from the giant fridge, pausing on his way back to listen at the bottom of the staircase. The muffled crack of a pool ball came up from the basement, but all seemed quiet upstairs. That was good.
He sat back down opposite Alistair and handed him one of the beers. They clinked bottles and Alistair leaned over the iPod dock, scrolling through the playlists. The kids’ chart mix was abruptly replaced by Pink Floyd’s ‘Comfortably Numb’.
‘So, Sean,’ Alistair said, settling back into his chair, ‘tell me about our newest arrival.’
‘Izzy?’
‘You two grew up together, didn’t you? What was she like back then?’
‘Ah, she was great, a livewire. Funny too, you know? We laughed a lot back then.’
‘Never married?’
Sean hesitated and took another gulp of beer, the glass of the bottle ice-cold against the palm of his hand. Didn’t Alistair know the history? Maybe he’d forgotten, or filed it away somewhere in his memory. He could never tell what the other man was thinking.
Engaged, but not married.
‘No. Never.’
Alistair steepled his fingers together.
‘I find her quite fascinating.’
‘Yeah, she’s an amazing woman, really.’ He added quickly, ‘So strong, despite everything that life’s thrown at her. I’m really glad she was able to make it out here this week.’
Stop talking. You are rambling. Just stop.
He was suddenly aware of the way the older man was looking at him, fists beneath his chin, as if Sean was one of his clients. He felt as if he was being scrutinised by Alistair the counsellor, the accredited professional who spent his days listening to other people’s problems. As if Alistair was mentally taking notes on what he said, how he said it, what he left out, to create a profile and make a diagnosis of his shortcomings. To put them on show for the world to see.
And how about you then, Alistair? Have you ever turned that penetrating gaze on yourself? Ever done anything that you knew was wrong? Have you ever looked in the mirror, ever taken a close look at your own flaws and failings as a man, a father, a husband?
Sean felt the sweet sting of guilt, his constant companion.
Have any of us, for that matter?
Russ’s iPhone started ringing softly again on the tabletop. Sean leaned over to see if Rowan’s number was showing on the display, but it was an unrecognised number. After a few rings it stopped, then almost immediately began ringing again.
Alistair nodded towards the ringing phone.
‘He’s a man who seems to be in demand.’
‘Maybe it’s urgent,’ Sean said, standing up. ‘I’ll take it up to him.’
He grabbed Russ’s phone, walking as casually as he could out to the hallway. Stopping halfway up the stairs, out of sight of Alistair, he pressed the phone’s power button, just in case –
Just in case what?
In case it isn’t locked. In case it’s Rowan.
The phone’s screen came to life, asking for an unlock code.
Damn.
Sean pressed the power button and the screen went black again. He resumed his climb up the steps to the first-floor landing, padding quietly along the corridor to Odette’s room. The door was ajar so he gave the lightest of knocks and pushed it open a little more, peering into the shadows of the bedroom lit by a single bedside lamp.
Odette was in one of the two single beds, sucking her thumb, a white muslin cloth trailing from her little fist. Russ lay next to her on the floor, flat out on his back with a storybook open on his chest and an empty bottle of beer next to him.
Both of them were fast asleep.
24
Most of the house lights were off when we got back from the restaurant. Sean and Alistair were watching Aliens on the big screen in the lou
nge, feet up on the coffee table next to a cluster of empty beer bottles.
I hung my jacket by the door and looked around.
‘Where is everyone?’
Sean paused the film and stood up to stretch.
‘Russ was reading Odette a story and fell asleep,’ he said with a yawn. ‘Daniel’s asleep, too, and the teens are down in the games room.’
Izzy went straight upstairs while Jennifer headed for the stairwell down to the basement.
‘I’ll go check on the boys.’
Sean came over and gave me a peck on the cheek, his stubble tickling my skin.
‘Did you ladies have a good night?’
‘Lovely, thanks.’
‘Nightcap?’
‘Why not?’
He turned to Rowan. ‘D’you fancy one too?’
She gave him a little smile and nodded. ‘You always drown it. I’ll show you how whisky is supposed to be poured.’
He followed her into the kitchen and I stared after them for a moment, straining to hear what they were saying. Silence. Cupboards opening and closing. Whispers? Were they whispering? Or was that the sound of the tap running?
You always drown it. Why always? How many times had my husband made her a nightcap?
Jennifer reappeared at the top of the basement stairs, a frown on her face. ‘The boys aren’t down there, Alistair. Have they gone to bed already?’
Alistair shrugged and looked at his watch. ‘At ten? Doesn’t seem likely.’
‘So where are they then?’
‘I don’t know, darling.’
‘We only left you in charge for a couple of hours and you’ve lost the boys.’
‘They’re not lost.’
Jennifer put her hands on her hips. ‘Well, they’re not here, are they?’
‘I’m sure they haven’t gone far.’
‘You’re sure, are you?’ Jennifer said, her voice rising on a note of sarcasm. ‘Oh well, that’s all right then.’
Sean came out of the kitchen with a crystal tumbler in each hand, handing one to me.
‘One nightcap for my lovely wife.’
‘Where are the teenagers, Sean? Where’s Lucy?’
‘I don’t know, love, but they can’t have gone far.’ He took a sip of his drink. ‘Have you messaged her?’
‘She’ll probably blank me.’
‘Thought it was just me she did that to.’
I went out onto the balcony. The pool and garden were silent and empty, no sound of teenage voices. Lucy’s phone went to voicemail when I rang. And again, a second time. I didn’t leave a message. There was a strange coldness at the back of my neck, the first tingling of nerves. This was not right. Not here. Not now.
Sean came out and joined me on the balcony.
‘Do you want me to go and look for them?’
I nodded. ‘But let me just try this first.’
I pulled up the Find iPhone app on my mobile, logging in with Lucy’s details. Short of implanting her with a GPS chip, it was the surest and fastest way of finding her: she was never parted from her phone.
Sean raised an eyebrow. ‘Does Lucy know you spy on her with that?’
‘No. And it’s not spying, it’s twenty-first-century parenting.’
‘Yeah, right. Who else are you tracking with your little app?’
‘Just the kids.’
He hesitated. ‘No one else?’
Probably should have, I thought.
‘I told you, just Lucy and Daniel.’
‘Right.’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Just wondering.’
I watched as the map zoomed in on our location – there was the village, and the road out, and the junction. The image of her phone appeared in the centre of the screen, about seventy-five metres to the south-west. I zoomed in further, then out, looked around me to get my bearings.
‘She’s in the garden, far end, where the gazebo is.’ I looked at Sean. ‘What’s she doing there?’
‘I’ll go and get her.’
He picked up his own mobile from the table, flicked on the torch app, and headed off. Jennifer followed him and I brought up the rear, down the stairs to the garden. External lights threw a soft glow over the infinity pool but the shadows deepened beyond the hedge and we needed the light from Sean’s phone to see where we were going.
I stopped and checked my phone again. Fifty metres.
As we came around the side of the villa, I could see little points of light at the far side of the garden. It was a stone gazebo with four deep-cushioned armchairs, built-in fans for the day and a gas burner for the evenings. The smells of cigarette smoke and white wine drifted in the warm evening air as we drew closer, and gradually I could make out the reclining shapes of three teenagers, slumped in armchairs.
Jennifer looked from Jake to Ethan and back again.
‘What are you doing out here?’
‘Nothing,’ Jake said.
‘Just chatting,’ Ethan said, a little too loudly.
‘About what?’
‘Stuff.’
I looked up, caught a glance between Sean and Jennifer, their faces shrouded in shadow. Just a glance, then it was gone.
Jennifer sniffed the air dramatically. ‘You’ve been smoking.’ A statement, not a question.
‘No.’
‘A bit late, isn’t it?’ Jennifer said. ‘Why don’t you come and chat inside?’
‘How’d you know we were here?’
She tapped her forehead. ‘Mother’s intuition.’
Jake said nothing, just gave a slow, lazy smile. He stood, wobbled slightly, and leaned on one of the stone uprights. Jennifer moved closer, as if to catch him.
‘Have you been drinking alcohol?’
Jake nodded, glassy-eyed. ‘S’all right. Dad says it’s all right.’
‘Did he?’
‘At lunch.’
‘Not lunchtime, now, is it? It’s bedtime.’
‘It’s beddy-byes-time,’ Jake mimicked in a high voice. Ethan sniggered behind him.
‘Let’s go, young man, back to the villa. You too, Ethan.’
Jake grunted and sat down again on the armchair. ‘Let’s all go to bed,’ he mumbled.
Jennifer leaned down to hook one arm around her older son’s waist.
She said, ‘Will you help me with him, Sean?’
Sean took the teenager’s other arm and hoisted him to his feet.
‘You too, Ethan,’ Jennifer said. ‘Can you walk?’
‘I’m fine,’ Ethan said, getting to his feet.
I held out my hand to Lucy. ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s all go inside.’
She stood up slowly, took my hand, and we followed the others back into the villa.
Nine months earlier
She still remembers the first time she saw him.
She remembers it like it was captured on her Instagram feed, like she could go back there and see it any time she wanted to. She just has to close her eyes and think of him and that image pops into her head, fresh and clear and pin-sharp like it’s in HD.
They’re at school, in the dining hall queue. And there he is.
He’s tall – at least six feet – that’s the first thing she notices. Wide shoulders and a square jaw, proper stubble, not just silly bumfluff like some of the other boys in her year. His sleeves are rolled up, forearms broad with muscle. And he has this way of standing, of looking around, as if he knows everyone is looking at him and he’s perfectly OK with that, he’s used to it. Chestnut-brown hair in this gorgeous fade cut, long at the front, and he brushes it away from his eyes.
His eyes. A bright, shining blue, serious and funny and dangerous and deep.
They draw you in.
He’s like an amazing blend of Shawn Mendes and Chris Hemsworth, but he makes both of them look a bit crap, in her humble opinion. He’s ridiculously hot. He’s so hot it’s kind of unfair on all the other boys in the year, who look like little kids standing next to him.
She wonders if he thinks the same way about her.
MONDAY
25
The water was icy, a brutal, paralysing cold that felt like frozen fire, a million tiny needles piercing my skin at once. Rushing down from the mountains, it was pure and beautifully clear but I couldn’t imagine paddling in it, let alone getting my shoulders under. I lifted my feet out of the stream and sat back on the rock, full of delicious relief as the July sun warmed my feet back into life.
I felt like the captain of a sinking ship, standing on the deck, waiting for the water to take me.
We had driven north into the hills to the Gorges D’Héric, a deep gully of sparkling red granite. Hiking a mile up the path, we found ourselves the perfect sunny spot – a steep-sided valley carpeted with oak trees, jagged peaks of rock above us on both sides jutting against the blue sky. Just upstream, a mini-waterfall emptied into a deep pool of clear mountain water, rocks rising vertically above it on both sides.
We were arrayed around the edges of a smaller rock pool, complete with tiny sandy beach, our towels laid out on broad, flat rocks, slabs of granite speckled with tiny flecks of quartz that sparkled in the sunlight. I watched as Sean played with Daniel and Odette in the shallow water of the rock pool, the two children squealing and splashing with delight as Sean dared them to wade deeper into the cold mountain water. Lucy, in a black bikini and Jackie O sunglasses, lay back on a rock tilted towards the sun.
Jennifer had gone further up the gorge in search of her boys, while Rowan had climbed higher off the path, looking for an elusive single bar of mobile phone reception.
Izzy walked over and set out her towel on the rock next to mine. She lay down, propping herself on her elbows, face to the sun. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, gentle.
‘So, Kate. Are you going to tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’
‘I’ve hardly seen you crack a smile once since I got here. What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Just a bit preoccupied, that’s all.’
‘You can’t fool me, woman. Half the time it’s like you’re not even there, you’re away with the fairies somewhere.’ She paused. ‘Is it Lucy?’
‘Why would it be?’
Izzy shrugged. ‘She’s at a difficult age. Boys and hormones and exams and bitchy friends – can’t be easy.’
